Grinder

We walk through the doors, suddenly she is in hysterics. Wailing and flailing her arms. People are starting to watch, I feel their eyes burning into the back of my skull. I start to get uncomfortable and want nothing more than to leave. Aspen's tantrum continues her shoes fly off, I turn to Bob – please take the kids to the car, "It's late, I'll only be a few minutes, please!" I plead. Aspen's screams grow stronger - her face red hot and tears are now rolling down her face. Bob more determined now than when the tantrum first started - all eyes are on us, how we dare continue shopping with such a fit.

I escape towards the coffee grinders because I can't take it - she had me at the first tear. Bob he's the strong one, he doesn't let her get to him but at this point she has. About half- way to my destination the crying and screaming stops – I am surprised.

I quickly grab the coffee grinder –a must have for the work week seeing as how my entire life is fueled by approximately 1,978,475 cups a week – and head back towards where I think Bob and the kids are. I find them miraculously no one is crying.

“How did you make it stop?” I asked curiously.

“I put her in a timeout.” He says all breezy like he is king of the world and commands the respect of toddlers –something he’s eluding I may be incapable of, at least at the moment.

And that folks is reason 1,467 why I love my husband- while I freeze under duress he has poise.

A timeout is what she needed but because her screaming had me all sorts of kerfuffled I could not see that she needed to be reprimanded – I could only see that clearly it was 10 minutes before her bedtime and I was making her suffer through Target to get a coffee grinder, a very important coffee grinder that I cannot live through the work week without.

Thank heavens he can think straight under pressure because if I were alone? I think I would have high tailed it out of there and been stuck licking coffee beans for breakfast every morning this week or worse, reusing the grinds already in the filter, ALL WEEK!

Can you imagine that? Eww.

May I Have Your Attention Please

I see you over there.

All of you! You are all over there waiting on the edge of your collective seats for me to announce a winner.

Go on, get!

Stobbit!

Do I have something on my nose?

I think maybe I should change my middle name to willy-nilly because being all willy-nilly is so much better than following the rules. All my life I've played by the rules - except for that one time, yeah just that one time - and I think it's high time I change it up a bit.

So, screw the April 29th deadline.

Bring on May 2nd @ 4 pm, baby.

I plan to announce the winner before 4:30pm on the 2nd because your patience is greatly appreciated.

Hopefully I won't continue to be all willy-nilly because, um, that could get a little old!

Go forth and enter dear readers!

In the meantime, totally willy-nilly style, do you use a vegetable wash?

No, really. Do you?

I'm curious because I saw this and thought 'hmmm, $9 to wash my vegetables'. I don't so much as rinse my vegetables let alone buy a special cleaner for them. Seriously, I am probably killing the children.

Downright Balmy!

If you haven't already, enter my Contest! What are you waiting for?

********

Remember how I told you 70 degrees in Seattle is balmy?

I was not lying.



Of course, it helps that we have warm water in the pool, but still, totally balmy!

*********

If you haven't already, enter my Contest! Do it NOW!

Hello! Sunshine!

If you haven't already, enter my Contest! What are you waiting for?

***

It's been a really nice weekend here in Seattle. And although the ski slopes are still open (hello longest ski season evah!) it reached nearly 70 degrees and, for Seattle, that is downright balmy. On Saturday, after some morning chores, I talked Bob into a walk to the Park which he tried to resist because walking isn't something he does unless it has a purpose and seeing as how we have an amazing play-set in the backyard he thought the trip totally useless. But, I kindly reminded him that just last week he asked about joining me when I run and in order for him to actually run the entire way he may want to see what it feels like to walk the entire way. He complained the entire time except when Kyan demanded that we run (he was too winded to complain) -that kid is a running fool. I had a bad bra on and can I tell you how bad that hurt?

Anyway, it was sort of fun to play tourist in our little town. Our town is a little town that attracts day-trippers aplenty. It's historic and when I was little we visited here, especially in high school, to make-out at the Falls (aww). Now that I live here I've never been to the Falls which is a total shame but crowds in my town do nothing but piss me off so I avoid the crowds which means I avoid the Falls. But, we tourist-ed the old part of town on our way to the Park and it was fun!


I think this used to be an old logging town (just a guess!)

Wheel!
Milk-Man! Which I never even noticed until today. Isn't amazing how you can just not notice something of this stature during your normal life?
Mt. Si! Reminds me why we haven't moved away yet.
Bloom!
Weeeeeeeee!
And, another bad picture of me!

That roll, yes that one in the middle, seriously, what the hell? After taking this picture I noted the roll and simply passed it off as me slouching which I tend to do. But, nevertheless I continued to think that is not what I see when I look in the mirror. The truth is, I avoid the mirror, not really on purpose but I have really gotten out of the habit of caring and taking a good look at myself which I think is easy to do when you have two needy toddlers and 2.8 seconds to get showered and clothed for the day. Anyway, later in the day I passed by my son's full length mirror and saw a similar roll and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them - ready to face the truth.

The truth is I have a 'roll' or several. The truth is I've gained 7 pounds since Christmas which equates to approximately a half of a pound a week and it has been effortless! And, really, it has been since the second week of February - I know this because that is when I left that BIG project in Seattle and went back to sitting 9 hours a day at my desk job yet continued to eat as though I was still walking up 12 flights of stairs 1,243 times a day. I've been paying attention but that doesn't change the denial about my eating habits and the fact that they need to change in order to fit into anything summery.

So, as of tomorrow I am going to stop the upward climb - I must! Going backwards is never easy to watch and I figure I have two choices - I'm choosing to see my failings now - relatively early in the game before this molehill is a mountain. So, this is good-bye to my favorite Thai, Burgers, Sandwiches, and Teryaki (you name it - if it's bad, I eat it!) and hello! Lean Cuisines (thankyouforbeingonsale), carrots, yogurts and salads. Which is hopefully code for good-bye extra poundage and hello! summer clothes.

****

Again, if you haven't already, enter my Contest!

Deadlines - La la la

You might be thinking "Hey, it's Friday after 4pm that contest should be over" and you would be right, technically speaking but since I think deadlines are more of a willy-nilly thing (I blame all the lawyers I have to work with) I've extended it!

And I might extend it again, who knows?

I want more people to play!

And I know for one, not all of my readers have signed up, which should be their loss but remember I suffer from chronic guilt (hmm, maybe I should seek help for that?).

Anyway, it's extended until Tuesday the 29th.

But I promise it will not go past next Friday and if it does so happen to go to next Friday - I promise to post the winner BEFORE Monday.

If you haven't left a comment on this post, do so NOW!

Afraid of the Dark

Have you entered my CONTEST, yet? Do it NOW! thankyou!

******

So, I was thinking about telling you about how my insomnia started acting up again, which hasn’t happened since I was in college. At the same time I also contemplated telling you about my new addiction – Paranormal State. And while thinking about both topics it occurred to me that quite possibly the reason I couldn’t sleep was because of my new obsession and then I felt dumb.

Let’s start from the beginning.

Back in January my sister told me about the show Paranormal State and I was intrigued – mostly because with the Writer’s Strike well underway current television was really getting on my nerves. What I had already considered questionable content had now become a barrage of bad reality television (which I love, in small doses) and I started to wonder how many times I could watch The Hills reruns before I jumped off a cliff –it turns out that number is awfully high seeing as how I haven’t taken the plunge yet.

Anyway, back to Paranormal State. This show chronicles the cases handled by Penn State Paranormal Research Society which was founded by Ryan, the main character. The cases range from a previous Insane Asylum’s turned Recovery center’s unexplainable events to normal families curious about strange happenings in their homes. Good television –after you get over the ‘this isn’t real’ thing. My husband mocks me and says that it is as real as The Hills. And, hello, I know!

I was scared going into the first episode mostly because I believe to some degree that paranormal activity is real. I blame my mother. And also, my own experience about knowing things I shouldn’t. Like the time in high school when I woke up and told my mother that my very best friend was going to get into a serious accident tonight with a truck. My mother (who believed in psychics and stuff) told me to not talk like that about my friends. That night, my friend? She rear-ended a stalled van on her way home on the bridge from Portland that had no shoulders. She survived and when I found out what had happened, I cried. I cried because I was scared that I knew that the accident was going to happen and I didn’t tell her. I still don’t think she’s forgiven me.

So needless to say, I sort of believe that all of that stuff could be, in a way, real. But, I also have this other side, the rational side, that’s all “if science can’t explain it then it isn’t real.” Both sides argue and no one ever wins. It eats me up.

Back to being scared. Yes, I sat down with Bob to watch because he’s my protector and is very level headed and makes feel like even if something did happen he would protect me. Swoon. I watched the first episode and couldn’t sleep THE.ENTIRE.NIGHT. Because, dead time? (3 am) is freaky no matter how you look at it, unless you are drunk and then 3 am is a really good time, but the 3 am I saw was freaky and not at all intoxicated. Squeaks, creeks, snores, dogs barking, you name it, all of it freaked me out even if it’s just the houses regular noises. So, that was that, Bob suggested that maybe I shouldn’t watch it anymore seeing as how I couldn’t sleep and I agreed. I was freaked.

A few weeks later I found myself thinking about watching another episode because although the Writer’s Strike was over no new shows were actually airing yet and I was being drawn to it. Since I have no self control what-so-ever, I watched two shows, alone, all by myself and was fine – a little creped out but nothing to lose sleep over.

I was unscathed and became totally intrigued by the show, “If it is fake it’s still a good watch” I determined.

So two weeks ago when I suggested to my sister that she and her daughter come over for dinner and spend the evening at our house, she replied excitedly and said that my niece wanted to play Ouija (you know to contact spirits) after watching a few episodes. I was skeptical and prayed that the idea would blow over and that I would not have to participate all while secretly thinking it would be kind of fun.

Saturday rolls around, my sister cooks a fabulous dinner which is totally unrelated to this story but the girl can cook. I mean she just looked around and suddenly after some chopping and sautéing we were eating like royalty. Did you know you can make croutons from bread? Crazy, right? Iknowhuh! Okay, so I knew but didn’t really know how to do it.

Anyway, after dinner I promptly put the kids to bed (well, one anyway) and immediately started watching the entire OnDemand (thank you Comcast!) collection of episodes of PS. By midnight we had successfully watched the entire set.

It was time. I was scared and refused to participate other than sitting with them which trust me was enough to scare the living day lights out of me. It wasn’t what did or didn’t happen it was merely the thought of it that scared the crap out of me. Seriously. Every time I woke up that night which was approximately 607,989 times I thought there was a spirit trying to contact me and then my heart would race and I would squeeze my eyes really tight and try to fall back asleep. Writing that takes me back to 3rd grade when I was scared of the dark which as it turns out is really the problem now.

Consequently, since Sunday I haven’t been able to fall asleep and I didn’t make the connection until last night. I was just wondering why on earth my insomnia would suddenly just reappear after an almost 10 year absence. Brilliant, I know. I’m quick, aren’t I? But to my credit it wasn’t like I was sitting there in the dark scared – I would just turn the TV on to watch and not get tired. The scared-y cat part was what dawned on me and last night once I acknowledged it, I slept like a baby.

So, am I the only one fascinated by the paranormal?

*****

Have you entered my CONTEST, yet? The power of the paranormal compels you!

Dollar Short - It's a Contest

*******************CONTEST IS NOW CLOSED 1:15 PM PST 5.2.08**********************

April 16th was designated as Blog Reader Appreciation day and to keep with my theme of being a day late and a dollar short – I missed it. It’s not that I didn’t know it was happening but for whatever reason I never found myself actually writing about how you, dear readers, complete me.

So, without further adieu…

Dear readers, invisible internet friends, real life family, and friends alike I appreciate you taking the time to read my stories about my children, my childhood, my making a complete ass out myself, my ups, my downs and my job. I love that you offer suggestions, praise, validation and the occasional kick in the shorts when I get out of line. I feel like we are friends and that you make my life better for keeping this website.

You’ve allowed me to grow and expand from just simply discussing my children to letting me talk openly about things that have happened to me that I need to talk about, about my fears and my dreams. You’ve allowed me to be me and I sincerely hope you’ll continue to read and take this journey with me because I appreciate your shoulder to lean on, your open ears and your comments.

And, even though on April 16th I never found myself writing about how much I appreciate you I did find time to enter this. And upon entering I thought to myself “If I win I will spread the love” and then thought nothing of it.

I mean aside from checking in daily to see how many people were entering, gagging the odds, (after all, I am a Mathematician) (can I call myself that?) calculating and finally on Monday morning when there was no update I was crushed – convinced it was another go at internet failure sealed.

But, apparently lady luck was on my side and the cosmos aligned and rainbows started shooting right out of my behind (simultaneously, I might add) because I won. I WON! IWON! (Did I mention that I may have won that contest?)

After near fainting spell and a few phone calls to relatives I think it’s safe to say I have sufficiently regained my composure. After much deliberation I’ve decided that the grand prize is enormous quite possibly of epic proportions and truth be told I am a giver. Well, maybe not as much a giver as someone who suffers from chronic guilt. As I’ve told you before I feel guilty about anything and everything.

A fat lady? Somehow my fault she isn’t a healthy weight.

An old man alone? I feel bad because his kids don’t love him.

So, naturally, yesterday when I won I immediately felt as though I didn’t deserve it and it was a prize too big for just one (fairly new) reader and even though I know I have nothing to feel guilty about I can’t help but want to “spread the love” or Pay it Forward, if you will (or outright copy).

So, I will be hosting a contest of my very own, in honor of my regular readers and new readers alike (we were all new at some point, y’know).

Here’s the deal:

1. Leave a comment on this post. For anonymous users, please sign your name and leave your state so as to curb any anonymous abuse with multiple entries.


2. Link to your favorite website or blog and tell me about it. It can be your own for all I care. I am always up for a new read – work is slow, painfully slow.


3. I will stop collecting names on Tuesday April 29th Friday May 2nd 4pm Pacific Time. Any comment left after that will not qualify.


4. I will use Random.org to determine the winner(s) and post it some time next week.

What you win:
First Prize

1. $25 Amazon.com* gift card!


2. A Body Shop gift bag full of all sorts of goodies. If the reader is a guy, I’ll figure something a little less girlie for you.
   

The First Loser Prize

1. $25 Amazon.com* gift card!

******

Prizes

The gift card, I presume, is self explanatory so onto to the loot bag.

(I cannot get the image I stole from The Body Shop to upload, so, lookhere for a sneak peek!)

The loot bag is filled with mini sizes of the Body Shops Moringa Body Butter and Shower Gel, NEW Aqua Lily Eau de Toilette and Body Lotion, and Aloe.

It is amazing and I am going to be a little sad when I ship it off but I am sure I’ll get over it, eventually.

********
And for those of you who are wondering why on earth I am not paying the gift of booze forward, I am, believe me, I am. I am in the process of planning a Girls Night Out where I’ll be offering booze to the ladies who decide to show up and if that isn’t paying it forward then I don’t know what is.

And, again, thanks for reading!

* This can really be any gift card of your choice seeing as how I am flying by the seat of my pants on this whole copying Kristy’s contest.

Squeak

The last time this happened I was awakened suddenly in the middle of the night. The coughing that had lasted for the previous 3.5 hours was doing no good. I sat up on the edge of the bed, exhausted I took a deep breath so I could gage how bad it was going to be. I was tight, but it was nothing I hadn’t felt before. I could hear the squeak – the one that sounds an awful lot like a cute little mouse who just scored a piece of cheese off of the abandoned coffee table. Worse than hearing the squeak was feeling the tightness. I felt like someone had just sat down on my chest and wouldn’t get off. I went searching for medication I knew didn’t exist but had hoped did. After a few minutes I gave up.

I went to tell my fiancé that I was struggling, oxygen was not coming easily and I was scared. He was tired and annoyed that I had woken him –after all it was now 5 o’clock in the morning on a Sunday, his only day off that week.

I left our bedroom went into the bathroom and started the shower hoping the steam would help relieve the swelling in my lungs. I sat there atop the closed toilet coughing and sputtering not knowing how long this attack was going to last, scared that I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Eventually I fell back asleep, still coughing but completely exhausted from working so hard to breathe. At some point during the day, I began to pace, all suffers I know do this pace because the monotony is calming. My sister refers to this as the Dance. I also continued to cough and sputter non-stop – diligently ignoring that as the day wore on I was getting weaker and less able to fight the attack that was soon to be going on 12 hours. I was suffocating and worn out from fighting it.

After much convincing from my soon to be husband I let him take me to the hospital. Barely able to walk I stumbled into the emergency room and was immediately taken back. Sometime around 11pm I was admitted where I remained for 3 days until I told them I had no insurance.

A moment ago, my breath was coming easily, no struggle, it was effortless, as it should be. I breathed in deeper where the oxygen was met with the tight, constricting walls of my ever failing lungs. My fingers stopped typing, all I could think was “Oh please, not again.” It has been more than five years since the last time and more than twenty-five since the first. I don’t remember the first. I certainly don’t want to remember the last.

My minds eye took me immediately back to that day, where I continued to struggle for hours before seeking help, knowing now that I would never again wait that long. That if this were happening I would give it 2 hours tops because a visit to the hospital for an hour is better than days. I felt powerless.

I breathed in again the squeak grew louder and more pervasive with each incoming breath. I could feel the tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. I reached for my keys and headed out to the car, relief was waiting.

One puff, two puffs, and a third for good measure.

I took a deep breath, in through the nose out through the mouth, waiting for the most insignificant of cues to make my nightmare real. Like the last time I visited my Dad, it was a false alarm.

I relaxed.

Death by Brownies

I thought I would share this because my boss (of all people) sent it to me and I was in tears after watching it. Enjoy!

Footprint

In an effort to reduce our carbon footprint some new animals made their way to our home.

We hope we someday have our own fresh eggs.

BUT, my husband is sort of a know-it-all and failed to ask about the chicks and we sort of ended up with minature chickens, which as luck would have it produce minature eggs.

So our footprint is still mighty large considering these minature chickens are really just pets.

We'll have to use twice as many eggs but thank goodness the kids adore them.

SAD

I think I am suffering from S.A.D.

In fact, I know I am.

You know as well as I do that the Internet is never wrong.

Symptoms [ripped off from the above link]

• a desire to oversleep and difficulty staying awake, but in some cases, disturbed sleep and early morning wakening; [in fact, I always want to oversleep! Do I get bonus points for that? Check.]
• feeling fatigue and an inability to carry out normal routine; [Yes! Yes my daily routine is getting increasingly difficult to carry out. I thought I was just taking on too much. It's like they have been in my head. Check.]
• a craving for carbohydrates and sweet foods, usually resulting in weight gain; [Pssst, always! And, seconds? Always. Surprise, surprise. Weight gain. Huh, who knew? Check.]
• feelings of misery, guilt and loss of self-esteem, sometimes hopelessness and despair, sometimes apathy and loss of feelings; [Yes, I mean with the above mentioned symptoms who wouldn't feel a little guilty? After all, eating an entire pan of brownies would make anyone feel guilty, no? Check.]
• an irritability and desire to avoid social contact;
  [Again, when you eat too much, sleep too much and feel guilty about it who freaking wants to see anyone? Check.]
• a tension and inability to tolerate stress; [Yes, I have been feeling a little edgy lately. Check.]
• a decreased interest in sex and physical contact [Jesus, quit pointing the finger. I mean I am overeating, over-sleeping, avoiding public and now you go and accuse me of not wanting to be intimate. WTH? CHECK!!!!]
• and in some sufferers, extremes of mood and
  short periods of hypomania (overactivity) in spring and autumn. [So that explains the 5k stint back in the Fall and the burning desire to continue. Check.]

Diagnosis: A resident of Seattle.

Cure: July.

Fumblin'

I have been scouring our files, looking, flinging things, tossing things out of the way all in search of one good photo of me –one that doesn’t involve a wedding dress or baby fat because, let’s face it, the baby fat is not pretty.

This search got me thinking, why on earth are there only very few pictures of me, out of hundreds of photos taken in the last 4 years why are there only a handful that contain me in them? Actually, I won’t lie –I can’t stop thinking about why so little evidence of me exists in pictures. I have been obsessing, really.

At first, I blamed Bob, because surely if he were more adamant about taking pictures of me more would exist, but, really, he does try, I just flat out refuse. As a general rule, the second I see the camera whipped out I ignore all calls for my attention because, I am never in any shape to have my picture taken, ever. I reason in my head at the time that I am too fat, dressed like a slob, my hair is never brushed – it’s disheveled (sexy, no?), there is always a reason to avoid the camera, if it’s not my appearance than it’s always something.

And while all the excuses in the world make perfect sense at the time of the opportunity it never ceases that I am sorely disappointed when I review the pictures later and discover none of the family photos include me. If you were only allowed access to our photos you would be led to believe that my husband is a single father of two – which I have previously written off as me being the ‘photographer’ but that isn’t really the case.

I guess it’s something I have been ignoring for a really long time but more importantly something that has reared its ugly head since having children. Like many women, I have suffered from body issues my entire life and it was something I thought I had a pretty good handle on before having children – I thought I had gotten past it.

It became obvious while pregnant with my first that my issues were not only still present they happened to be devouring junk food at an alarming rate - apparently my issues thought that pregnancy was a free for all and who was I to stop it? The flip side of letting the issues loose is that you get fat, albeit in the name of my first born, it doesn’t change what the scale told me, it so happens that it spelled it out for me in red digital letters, FAT. Sure I had seen FAT before, I was slightly familiar with FAT but she had never in her life just up and moved into my house and decided to stay for a while.

Something didn’t sit well with me having FAT as a house guest and before I knew it I was doing everything I could to get her the hell out. Once she was gone I swore to the entire world she would never be allowed back into my house because that pesky house guest is really hard to get rid of despite how innocent she appears when she first accepts your offer. I’d beaten the FAT right out of my house and was sure as hell not going to let her back in, not even if I were pregnant again.

But, I got pregnant again, and while I beat the FAT in the beginning of the pregnancy the issues were all too eager to feast on junk food in the name of another baby because that is only fair to the fetus y’know – each fetus deserved the same cheetos nutrition, yeah that’s it, it was all in the name of equality. Of course, FAT decided to stay a little longer the second time, eventually leaving sometime after the babes 1st birthday.

The lingering effects of FAT are something I hadn’t anticipated, I thought I’d kick her out and she’d go on her merry little way and I would be done with her. Not the case, seeing photos of me during the first few months of Kyan’s life was alarming because I do this thing when FAT comes around, I avoid the mirror or looking at the mirror for too long for fear I may not recognize the person looking back at me and when I saw those pictures I was in disbelief. In my mind I was the same size 8 I always picture myself to be no matter what my real size is and to see a photo reflecting my actual size blew me away and scared the daylights out of me.

The shock that came with seeing me FAT shook me to the core because I certainly didn’t feel the way the photos made me look and I certainly didn’t want any proof I was ever that big, again.

So began the dance I do when the cameras come out and even though the weight is gone and FAT has removed herself from my house the effects are still lingering leaving me to avoid photos for fear it will be proof that FAT is back.

And, really I already know I should love every inch of me and believe me I do, it's just a scary place to have proof that in trying to set a good example that you just piece together some semblance of normalcy and you find yourself fumbling.

The Secret

Psst, hey you, come here.

Yes, you! I have something I need to tell you.

Come closer, that’s it, I have a confession.

I cannot keep a secret. Well, that’s not true – I cannot keep a secret from my husband – I just cannot do it, no matter how hard I try, I cannot deceive him.

I don’t know when this started because when we were first married, I could, but as the years have worn on, I find that no matter how little or how big the secret I have to tell him. It is like a force that is bigger than me that propels me to tell him things that I know that he does not and this force is much stronger than my willpower [not sayin’ much, but still].

Let’s take for example, Christmas, it’s supposed to be a time when you surprise each other with super secret stuff – and let me tell you, last year, I thought I was going to nail it, boy, I had the best thing he never even knew he wanted – a camera.

Now, in all honesty, I judged nailing it in terms that it was something I wanted once he tossed it aside with the other stuff he renders useless. My husband, he’s the typical man, hard to shop for plus he’s got a terrible habit of shopping for himself around the holidays which really means you don’t have a shot in hell of actually finding something he a) doesn’t already have or b) wants.

But, being the clever wife that I am, I realized on Halloween that his point and shoot camera was archaic and drove him nuts because between the time that he pushed the button and the actual picture taking was approximately 7.8 minutes seconds and, as anyone with kids knows, that means the kids were up from the photo op, out the door and almost ready for college.

Now, being the high tech redneck techno geek that my husband is, when I bought my DSLR last year he laughed, and laughed, because how in the world was I going to lug that beast of camera in my pocket to anywhere. He had a point – after all, it wasn’t my camera that was nicely tucked into my glove box that Halloween was it?

After searching the ads and looking at all the cameras in the stores I had found the best camera for the best price that fit all my his needs. It’s funny when you take a high tech redneck techno geek into one of those mega electronic stores their eyes glaze over and anything you say or do in that store goes in one ear and out the other so me meandering through all the cameras went totally unnoticed in 4 different stores – I am not sure he knew
I was even in the store with him.

The only thing left was to actually purchase it – success would surely be mine, I could taste it, I could smell it – this was going to be my year. Not to mention I was totally proud of myself for finding something that he did not know he needed. Maybe, too proud.

While driving home from purchasing the gift I stopped at Costco and while there, I thought I should make sure I got the best deal and to my surprise I had purchased the camera less than even Costco was offering and at that point I could not contain my pride – I was beaming. Not only had I found the most difficult person to shop for (besides my father) the perfect gift, I found it for several dollars less than Costco, I needed to get a grip.

I continued my shopping with a stupid smile through Costco unable to contain myself. Suddenly, while concluding my trip down the diaper aisle, my husband calls. And if you didn’t already know that shopping with a cell phone and child is dangerous which makes shopping with child and cell phone at Costco during the holidays insane and makes me really distracted.

Suddenly, as if I was listening from above, I hear myself tell him.

“…and you know what else? Costco has your camera for $20 more than I paid. Can you believe it?”

No sooner had the words left my mouth had I prayed we had been disconnected.

Silence on the other line.

“Oh, no! I just told you. Damn it.” I hung up quickly wanting to cry, I couldn’t even keep the secret for 2 hours, I wanted to die.


I guess I am confessing this because this weekend I was accused of telling secrets, but, wanted to clarify that I don’t tell everyone secrets – it’s just my husband I have trouble with.

So, a fair warning that if you tell me something it’s as good as telling my husband – because, let’s face it, if I can’t keep something as dumb as a camera a secret from my husband I surely can’t keep your juicy drama (or not so juicy every day life stuff you happen to tell me) from him either.

Baby

I sit here on a Friday morning after a long week, exhausted – it could be any week, really, since they all seem the same after a while blending together with only minor differences but the same pattern nonetheless.

It’s been a long time coming – I’ve known that I would have to face it eventually but I have kept with the whole, if I ignore it surely it will go away, or better yet, she will do it on her own.

Sleeping left my vocabulary sometime mid 2004 and I have yet to regain some sense of what that means, nearly four years later. When you are pregnant you stop sleeping through the night because the need to pee is so urgent it wakes you at 2 am then again at 5:30 am getting progressively worse as the bean continues to grow until one night you just give up and camp out on the pot – that way you can at least rest between urges.

The peeing thing, in my opinion, is part of nature easing you into parenthood and gradually getting you used to functioning as a comatose version of your former self. The newborn days are hard – sleep is impossible with the demands of feeding and diaper explosions every hour ‘round the clock – and at first it sucks the life right out you but it doesn’t really bother you because this new being is your life now so who cares if you can’t function properly anyway.

At some point, the baby grows and slowly, ever so slowly, the routine gets to a point that is manageable – diaper changes and feedings in the middle of the dissipate, thank you jeebus. And according to the books, children become capable of sleeping through the night sometime around 3 months old but for many this isn’t realized for some time after.

But, sometimes books lie, sometimes they don’t take into account that previously you’ve ignored all advice (albeit unsolicited) and let your child sleep in your bed, sometimes books don’t take into account that you’ve only done what you’ve done for survival and that you never once considered the future because sleep now was what mattered.

And still, sleep now is what matters because I’m tired I avoid and ignore the fact that my 20 month old wakes umpteen times in the middle of the night and demands to nurse before falling back to sleep which in turn means I am getting zero sleep which, as it turns out, is the exact opposite of sleep now.

I have avoided confronting this issue up until now with the ignorance that she will be like her brother and stop on her own or with the offering of some water from a sippy, just as her brother did but she is not her brother, not even close. And for her, sleep has never come easily – she would so much rather party and be part of the action if there is any to be had, or create her own if no one else is up for it.

But, for her and for me something has to give because at this point we are both suffering. I hate that this will be difficult, I hate that I have to right my wrongs, I hate that it means no more nursing in the middle of the night, but, I love that it means no more nursing in the middle of the night, I love that it will mean 6+ hours of sleep in a row, someday, I love that it means she is getting older and independent but sad she is a baby no more.

On Shooting Blanks

The doctor suddenly appears at the end of the hall after nearly twice the time we were quoted the whole procedure would take, my heart sinks.

“Mrs. Z?” he said.

My mind started to race a thousand miles a minute. Ohgodhesdead, something happened, something went terribly wrong, like omg we don’t have life insurance, and omg malpractice omgomgomgomg.

“Yes” I respond, trying to not look like he is going to tell me he just killed my husband. The doctor kindly escorts me back to my husband.

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It turns out the doctor didn’t kill my husband, no, he simply made him sterile, or at least we hope he made him sterile. Apparently the procedure was difficult –it took 40 minutes, whereas normally they are completed in 20 minutes or less.

The weekend continued – I took care of the whole brood, plus another kid the husband, the dogs, the birds, the laundry, the, the, the usual.

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This decision, the permanent birth control decision, has now been solidified after my weekend experience. See making the decision for permanent birth control was one, well, that I couldn’t bring myself to make for so many reasons, but mostly because it’s so, I don’t know? Permanent.

Due to some circumstances beyond our control (read: cheap boss) we thought Bob was going to lose health insurance coverage at the end of March, so I just scheduled the procedure for fear that I would never actually make up my mind until #3 was born and I can assure you I am, after a long weekend, so glad I made that call.

Apparently, I am not wired for more than two kids since having two toddlers and a whiny husband nearly sent me off my rocker. No sooner would I have cleaned the dishes would the dog have pooped, or one of the kids spilled milk, or someone needed another snack, another this, another that, and I am used to answering to my two toddlers with ease but add another and it was too much, add to that the duty of taking care of all those animals and I was looking for the nearest exit.

Now we wait, sample check in 6 weeks and pray that a 3rd child will only be a dream and someday, maybe tomorrow, you may have to remind me that I was once at ease with this decision but for now basking in the after glow of surgery.

Speaking of Ghetto Filth

Let me elaborate.

I love my neighborhood, I love my neighbors, the neighbors that live directly next to us have exactly the same house, same layout, same property, except, you know, that they do not know how to throw anything away and have trouble actually performing home improvement projects that actually improve their home.

The neighbor husband, he's your typical do it yourself-er sans any follow through, which sadly tends to make a home into a disaster area rather quickly and tends to actually cost more in the final analysis.

Sure these folks are friendly, sure we enjoy seeing them and their teenagers, sure we like that they are not annoying, sure we wish we had the money for a six foot high fence, sure we wish for nothing more than a 6 foot concrete retaining wall between our homes, sure if they just threw away their crap we could cohabitate sans fence and our property value would skyrocket.

We discussed the problem with them (on numerous occasions), they've had a dumpster outside there home and thrown stuff away - in the last six months even, but still the crap collects, the garbage just keeps breeding, and they keep ignoring it and I hate that I feel the need to apologize for it every time we have company because it is unsightly.

Let's take a closer look.

Now, I guess I am bringing this up because we have lived here for 7 years this August and it has progressively gotten worse. I mean, what are we going to do when we need to sell it?

Anyone have any advice, besides the obvious six foot concrete wall because that? That sounds perfect.